Vampire's Forbidden Territory: Deleted Scene

The following is a deleted scene out of Vampire's Forbidden Territory, released 10/17/12. 

Take note, if you haven't read the book, you will find spoilers! (Scene was not edited.)

Chapter - Fire!

Clarabelle flew silently, passing over the Basilisk Preserve, an area deep within the Sídhí forest.

Snarling, her gray lips curled tight above dagger-sized teeth. She knew her long, beautiful snout bore little resemblance to its normal elegant appearance, but she couldn't help it. Her throat ached to release pent-up dragonfire. The deadly fire bubbled deep in the pit of her gullet, a special side-pocket connected to her throat.

She didn't dare release the tinniest wisp of her deadly fire. A single lick of her potent flame and the rubber containers filled with fairy water would burst before she was ready.

She had wanted Harry to fix his own mess and hopefully learn a much-needed lesson, but quenching the forest fire, before one of the interfering guardians showed up, was more important than training her younger brother. How he managed to live to be a hundred twenty years old was beyond her understanding.

She was cutting the rescue of her bumbling brother much too close, but it had taken time to snatch several containers of the expensive fire retardant. During the summer months, the large rubber balloons containing fairy-water were stacked three deep at the forest rangers storage facility located near Basilisk Pass. She thought she got in and out of the facility before anyone noticed her. Trying to explain why she was not at the Peace Camp and doing her assigned duty would be irritating.

Not that anyone would connect her sleek gray body with the traitorous member of the Khr'Vurr who kidnapped and tortured Guardian Alexander. To put it simply, she was hiding in plain sight. A trick easily accomplished since she was a throwback to the powerful Vürst dragons, a dragon clan thought to be extinct long before Sídhí appeared on Earth. The only way other dragons might guess her true heritage was by the strength of her dragonfire, but that wasn't something she could control. Anyway, people only noticed her elegant gray scales.

Clarabelle was a true Vürst dragon. A Vürst dragon of Sídhí lore who could tap into the synth crystal of her blood, extending her lovely back and tail spikes any time she wanted. Only her mate knew the truth of her bloodline and he would never betray her. He had been the one to encourage her current plan of action as they soaked in the hot springs beneath his castle.

She snorted in derision, remembering the conversation. Certain members of the Khr'Vurr were becoming too chummy with non-dragon members. The non-dragon members had been added for two reasons, a way to extend the Khr'Vurr's power into the other valleys and a way to search for Ancient ruins. She chuckled evilly. Non-dragon members were also a way to create scapegoats among the Khr'Vurr. Yes, she had a lovely supply of disposable members.

She sighed disgustedly, knowing she would soon hand over several dragon members of the Khr'Vurr to the guardians. She didn’t regret her decisions. A few prissy – modern thinking – dragons needed to be culled from active duty. They'd forgotten the true purpose of the Khr'Vurr.

In a way, the modern thinkers were worse than the stagnate Dragon Council.

The Dragon Council thought they were so smart, gathering hundreds of dragon together, dragons who were suspected members of the Khr'Vurr, a righteous group of freedom fighters. The council and guardians had stumbled happily along with Clarabelle’s plans as they hosted the Peace Camp in an attempt to hunt down the members of the Khr'Vurr.

Ha! She loved it! The council was actually making her job easier. It helped that her own beloved mate was a member of the council.

Hiding under the guardian's snouts, keeping them in the dark was highly entertaining. She hadn't felt this alive in hundreds of years. Yes, she walked a very fine wire, where one wrong move and years of planning would blow-up in her face.

She wasn't concerned.

A member of the Fore’Syth clan (a clan gifted with foresight) had 'seen' Clarabelle’s success. Failure was not an option. She was assured a victory against the council.

With one exception, her plans were perking along nicely and her rise to power was slowly falling into place. She growled deep in her throat and a tiny lick of flame curled around her snout as her mind centered on the one disaster. No, not everything was going as planned.

It would take the wrinkly, little gnomes several weeks of digging to reach her sister. Fury engulfed her. For the past few days, she had grieved for her dead sister.

Once Clarabelle healed from her serious chest injuries (and once she calmed down), she remembered one simple fact of life: Dragons were incredibly tough, nearly impossible to kill, even among the other Sídhí races.

The guardians never searched the collapsed cavern, assuming her sister was dead. But until Clarabelle held her sister's lifeless body, she wouldn't believe it. Her sister was twelve hundred years old. And old Sídhí were nearly impossible to kill. Her body could've been crushed and mangled, but as long as Ella’s head stayed attached, she might be alive.

A thrill of anticipation raced through her sleek body, running from her head to tail. Clarabelle had a special reception planned for Guardian Alexander and those two wretched teenagers responsible for her sister’s untimely accident. The fact that the teens were now bonded lifeMates would intensify her pleasure each time one of them screamed in agony.

The pungent smell of burning furble needles pulled Clarabelle from her enjoyable dreams of retribution.

Good thing Harry mentally called for help the moment the fire started.

Her sharp eyes searched the treetops, looking for the telltale plume of smoke. There. Of course, the doofus had picked the meeting area in plain view of any dragon passing overhead, right smack on the crest of a hill.

She grimaced as smoke spiraled beyond the tops of furble and pine trees. The entire area was littered with last year's pine needles. Add in the – highly flammable – furble needles and it was a firebug's dream.

Sending Harry to set-up the next step in her plan had been foolish. She knew it, but she kept thinking her younger brother would grow-out of his weird affliction. Sídhí were not perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination, but Harry was sadly lacking in every area. Whoever heard of a dragon choking on his own smoke? Maybe once in a while, but not every day.

She angled downward, skimming past blue and green treetops. Harry appeared below her, hopping up and down like a hibbet in heat, dashing from one blossoming blaze to the next. His flapping wings sent gusts of oxygen to the greedy flames, increasing the size of the burning area.

She flew lower, preparing to drop the six desk-sized balloons of fairy-water. One by one she staggered the balloons down the length of the grassy area. The moment the fairy enhanced rubber detected the warmth of fire its molecular structure changed, disintegrating the thick red rubber like a drip of water hitting a hot iron skillet.

Once the fairy water touched air, the synth enhanced water expanded until the nasty liquid quadrupled its original mass.

A high pitched wail erupted from below. The furious shrieking nearly drowned the sound of Harry's antics. Clarisse, the traitorous Clan vampire, dashed from her hiding spot behind a cluster of large furble trees, shaking her fist in the air and screaming obscenities at Clarabelle.

The young vampire’s threats came out spluttered as Clarabelle dropped her last balloon. The foul smelling liquid crashed around Clarisse, soaking the angry vampire. Under a face full of fairy water the girl shrieked in fury.

The horrid fairy-water, laced with synth crystal, smelled nasty and tasted worse. The compressed liquid filled balloon-like spheres that helicopters and dragons dropped on forest fires that plagued the area during the dry season. The horrific smell was something out of a nightmare, crossing spoiled milk, dog crap, and sulfur. Whatever the twisted fairies actually did to the altered water was anyone's best guess.

The murky water clung to Clarisse like slime, turning her fair colored skin a sickly yellow and her brilliant red hair into a rather splotchy orange color.

Clarabelle circled the open area between the trees, assuring herself all the fires had been put out. She landed. One clawed foot crunched in hot, blackened grass while the other sank in an area drenched in fairy-water.

Harry ducked his head, refusing to meet her angry glare.

Clarisse stomped up. “Look at me! I'll never get this slimy mess out of my hair. It's horrid!”

“Silence,” Clarabelle said, snapping her jaws a hair's length from the girl's short orange hair that lay matted around her head.

“But...”

Clarabelle hissed at the girl, throwing scorching heat in the girl's face without expelling any dragonfire.

The girl shrieked and stumbled backward, squalling that she could've died.

Clarabelle ignored the teenager's foot stomping temper tantrum and turned to Harry. “Did you give her all the instructions?”

Harry quickly nodded his head, his mottled frog green scales not looking any worse for being drenched in the fairy water.

“You,” Clarabelle said, turning to the girl, “leave before I decide to add a little flame. A few holes in your body certainly wouldn't kill you, but it would teach you not to question your betters.”

“You aren't my boss,” Clarisse said, shaking her finger at the gray dragon. “You can be sure that my father will hear of this atrocity.”

Clarabelle snorted. “He has been paid for your troubles, but your continued wellbeing, as well as that of your sister's, relies on a job well done. Now leave!”

Clarabelle watched the girl flounce away, stomping through the surrounding forest as if she owned the place. The girl had an attitude, a snotty attitude that reminded Clarabelle of her younger self. Given enough time, the hateful little teenager might grow on Clarabelle.

Vampire's Forbidden Territory is available at Amazon / Amazon UK / Barnes & Noble / Smashwords

Gnome's Revenge!

Ozark Valley: Branson, Missouri

The school year is about to start! Of course, a trip to the mall is an absolute must as teens search for that perfect outfit and accessories.

Like my best friend Kerry, parents are scrambling with last minute emergencies. I think Kerry does a grand job. She hands her daughter a visa debit card with a certain amount on it then takes Angela and her friends to the mall of the girl's choice.

Let me back up, before I tell you Angela's grand adventure, um catastrophe. - Yes, for a sixteen year old, it was a horrifying catastrophe! - You need a smidgen of background.

Angela is a vampire. She doesn’t act it, but she is gorgeous with hip-length white-blond hair and a body any movie star would kill for. She loves people. Her dark blue eyes literally sparkle when she meets a new person. As a side note, she handled the Sasquatch attack over last weekend tremendously well, much better than I did.

Anyway, she has never met a person she didn't like. She trusts everyone and lives life in a very carefree way. She'll try anything once. Her attitude is jump first, look afterwards because if you look first, you might not jump.

Poor girl might re-think jumping before looking next time.

Kerry took Angela and three of her friends to Oakland Mall in Branson, Missouri within Ozark Valley. Ozark Valley is predominately an elvish valley. The remaining twenty-five percent of the population is a mixed potpourri with vampires, dragons, fairies, and gnomes.

Oakland Mall is humongous. I mean it puts The Mall of America in the mundane world to shame. Three levels below ground and four upper levels above ground sprawl across an entire square mile. It has four motels, hundreds of restaurants and kiosks, an inside carnival, a water park that has tube rides going down the length of the mall and back, three movie theatres, a paint ball range, wyvern rides on the roof, putt-putt golf, half dozen arcades, a gateway terminal connecting dozens of valleys, and an uncountable number of retail outlets.

A family could spend their entire vacation at Oakland. The mall is a neutral spot where people from every valley are welcome to visit, no matter their race or political affiliation, without fear of attack. The mall guards deal with any attack swiftly and with severe penalties, including missing body parts, a silver collar, and hung by culprit's ankles in the courtyard.

Back to the story!

Angela's first mistake was visiting Maurice's Fairy Emporium.

Maurice's is a chain of fairy owned retail shops that carry a wide variety of beauty products, anything and everything imaginable is available. Do you want to have natural blue blushing cheeks, pink eyelashes, or glow-in-the-dark skin? Visit Maurice's and you'll find a fairy made product that will do exactly what you want.

Wait! That 'wait' is a major warning. Please, be sure to read the fine print on every single container even if they look identical.

Angela walked into Maurice's, exclaiming it was an awesome store. Never one to mix words, she voiced her disappointment when the clerk was a gnome and not a fairy like all the T.V. ads showed.

Well, that went over like a ton of bricks.

She told the shop clerk, a wrinkly faced gnome, she wanted to dye her hair to match the school colors. She's the newest member of the cheerleading team and wanted to make a great impression. Her words, not mine.

However, I'm sure she meant a great impression on the male half of the school body.

Her idea was actually great. She wanted a dye that she could wash in and then rinse out after each game. Too bad, she made the little gnome mad at her.

After she bought the dye, Angela and her cohorts went straight to the bathroom. The silver dye was a foam formula that rubbed into dry hair. The additional blue streaks were to be combed into the hair within five minutes of applying the base color.

Never trust a gnome that you've made angry. They are vindictive little people with a heart of mischief, a very dangerous combination.

The fine print on the bottle stated that the dry foam, unlike the liquid that had to be rinsed, was not to be used on a vampire.

They didn't read the instructions, covering Angela's hair in dry foam and rubbing it in.

At first, her scalp tingled.

Her friends added an inch-wide blue streak that curled around her face.

The tingling sensation began to itch.

Her hair turned silver, the streak of vivid blue intensified the color of her eyes. Looking in the mirror, she tentatively touched her hair in awe.

She grinned, eagerly combing her fingers through the silky strands. A huge chunk of hair came out! Paralyzed, she watched as the shiny silver strands slid through her fingers and floated to the floor.

Angela shrieked louder than a Sasquatch on a hunt.

Her friends jumped back as if she was contagious and stared in mounting horror.

Angela smoothed her hands over her head as if trying to keep it in place. Swaths of hair fell out. Suddenly, all at once, her remaining hair fell out. She stood, jaw dropped staring at her utterly baldhead in the mirror.

By the time her mom arrived, the other girls had gone after the gnome leaving Angela hiding in a bathroom stall. The gnome had disappeared without a trace. 

Until next time - Jodie B. Cooper

http://sidhinews.blogspot.com/

Sasquatch Attack! part II

Clan Valley: Lake Eufaula, Oklahoma

Sasquatch Attack continued…

A quick catch up… Some friends and I, along with our beloved pets, were visiting Mordecai's Sasquatch Ranch for the weekend. To know more, read yesterday's post. J

Gorman, the Sasquatch, shrieked in fury as the water trough slammed down on top of his head. Water drenched his long fur. He looked like a nine-foot drowned rat with giant teeth and claws.

He threw a hissy fit, smashing the water trough to the ground. He stomped on it until it resembled a pancake. He took the pancake and threw it toward the visitors.

In Gorman's defense, I'm sure he was aiming at Chief and Pumpkin.

Gorman took a running leap at the electrified fence. The fence must not have a very high charge, because he clung to it with the tenacity of a blood sucking leech. Hair smoking, he clung to the electrified surface, shrieking at the top of his lungs.

Thankfully, Mordecai arrived before Gorman managed to climb any higher and shot him with a tranquilizer dart, knocking the Sasquatch out.

Mordecai politely suggested I either leave or move to another part of the ranch. He said, Sasquatch remember things. I snorted and said he worried too much. I certainly wasn't worried.

I mean really, Kerry, one of my best friends and her husband, Mick, are vampires. Even if Gorman managed to escape from his pen, they could stop Gorman.

:face palm:

Next time, I'll listen to the old vampire's advice. Please, don't tell Mordecai I'll listen to him. Like most vampires, his ego is already mammoth sized.

It was nearly 3:00 AM when I heard a soft scratching sound at my window. I knew it was three in the morning, because the red numbers glowing on my ceiling said so. I hate being woke-up by weird noises. It's usually a chirping cricket or a buzzing morag stuck in the window screen. That drives me nuts.

I stumbled out of bed and lifted the window, before looking out. Yes, I know, how dumb was that, but I never thought about. Honest, I didn't!

I came face to face with Gorman. His eyes glowed green and he shrieked at me. That dual tone scream that announces a Sasquatch is on the hunt.

Death looked me in the face and shrieked, sending shards of icy terror through my chest.

Oh yeah, I didn't know I could move that fast. I flew away from that window.

I scrambled backward, screeching at the top of my lungs. Chief's barking mingled with my blood curdling screams and Gorman's shrieks.

Gorman plowed through the flimsy screen, ignoring Chief and came straight at me.

Thank goodness for Kerry and Mick. They came running into my bedroom and attacked Gorman.

Two full grown - very angry - vampires were way more than Gorman planned on. He squealed like a stuck pig and dashed out the window. Actually, he took the entire window frame and part of the wall with him.

All is well that ends well. No one got hurt and Mordecai moved Gorman to his ranch in New Mexico. Believe it or not, Mordecai said we were still welcome at the ranch.

Until next time - Jodie B. Cooper

http://sidhinews.blogspot.com/

Vampire in Dallas!

Dallas - Fort Worth Metro, Texas: Earth

A multi-car pileup in the Dallas - Fort Worth Metro (on Earth) resulted in numerous injuries and four fatalities.

Morgan Stantleberry, vampire, has lived in Texas for his entire life. He turned twenty-one in May. He's a die-hard Dallas Cowboy fan and works as a car sales man.

He might want to reconsider his career choice.

Earlier today, he rode with Matt DeLittle, a mundane who took a test drive. Against Morgan's suggestion, Matt took the little sports car up on one of the numerous expressways crisscrossing the area.

The actual pile-up was not Matt's fault, but since he was going nearly ninety miles an hour he couldn't stop in time. He hit the bed of a flatbed truck and went air born, flipping several times before landing in the opposite lane of traffic. A semi-truck hit the little sports car, completely crushing it. Unable to stop, the truck pushed it another hundred yards before stopping.

The accident killed Matt instantly.

Emergency personnel found Morgan unconscious and rushed him to the hospital.

Morgan, a Clan vampire, doesn't drink blood, except in a recreational sense. But after all is said and done, he is still a vampire.

When seriously injured a vampire's first reaction is to drink blood as it helps speed up the healing process. I'm sure you can see where I'm heading with this.

Morgan woke-up in the emergency room quite delirious. The young nurse drawing his blood never knew what hit her. He grabbed her wrist and chomped down. Yeah, that went over like a ton of bricks.

The nurse shrieked loud enough I'm surprised I didn't hear her all the way in Oklahoma.

A second nurse tried pulling Morgan off the first nurse. - Good luck detaching a blood hungry vampire! - When she couldn't budge him, she bashed him on the head with a bedpan. It went downhill from there.

Morgan raised his head, with his fangs still extended and hissed at the second nurse. Security stormed in the curtained room about the same time.

Morgan came to his senses soon enough, but not before people began screaming vampire. Security shot him twice.

He was too dazed to do more than mentally call for help.

His parents arrived and mentally froze everyone. They called in several friends, but soon realized they needed a lot more help.

Clan Guardians swarmed the hospital, mentally wiping the episode from every mundane mind. In this day and age, they also had to confiscate the security video and dozens of phones. Tracking down who sent images and to whom, took an entire squadron of guardians less than an hour to accomplish.

Since Morgan was so young a healer was brought in to speed-up Morgan's natural healing ability. With the extra blood and a healer's touch, Morgan walked out of the hospital on his own two feet.

The disaster ended on a happy note. Morgan found his lifeMate. She happened to be the mundane nurse he bit. Thankfully, she wasn't seriously injured.

Until next time - Jodie B. Cooper

Angel Sighting in Celtic Valley

Inverness, Scotland: Celtic Valley

Meredith McNeil reported seeing an angel early Sunday morning. The event happened northwest of Inverness, Scotland in Celtic Valley, near Loch Glass.

Meredith didn't file an official report with Celtic guardians, complaining they didn't believe her the previous times. Yes, supposedly she has seen four angels in the last ten years, which must have set some kind of record.

The latest report split the small village, on the edge of Loch Glass, straight down the middle. The Faithful, as they call themselves, believe Meredith can see God's messengers. They believe she is touched. People drive hours, simply seeking her opinion.

On the opposite side of the argument stand the Disbelievers, a label given by the Faithful. They say Meredith, who happens to be a vampire, has become unhinged. It's always a possibility. She is after all over nine hundred years old and hasn't found her lifeMate.

The Disbelievers insist Meredith is nutty as a fruit bat high on nectar.

Now, hearing that phrase come out of a mouth with a thick Scottish burr kept me asking Martin Black to repeat himself, which he did. Bless him.

Martin, a dragon and Celtic Guardian, calls Loch Glass his home. He was kind enough to speak with me, at great length.

Meredith refused, quite loudly and rudely, to speak with me. I might add she sounded tipsy.

Martin actually has several interesting theories. First, he thinks Meredith is smoking too much wacky weed. However, he's never smelled it on her. His next theory is she might be seeing sunrays reflecting between the clouds and the loch.

I asked him, if he thought she might be trying to boost the local economy, as she owns the largest bed and breakfast in the village.

He didn't disagree with me, but his next words made the reporter in me sit up and listen.

Yes, you heard me correctly; I promptly forgot my theory of greed as he told me his third theory.

Martin thinks she might be seeing fairy.

The majority of fairies live within Atlantis Valley and they don't have wings. Well, most of them don't, but the highest of the warrior caste have wings. Warrior fairies are completely unpredictable, even among fairies they're given a wide berth.

Fairies are unusual among the Sídhí as they have a caste system. Essentially the fairy race is made up of dozens of sub-races. Each sub-race is contained within one of five castes: royal, warrior, merchant, artist, and common. As an example, a banshee is a mid-level warrior caste.

One sub-race within the top caste of the warrior fairies is the exception to the no-wings rule. From the pictures I've seen and the stories, I've heard they are perfect in every way.

Every one of them, male or female is drop dead gorgeous. Their wings aren't pure white. The single picture that sticks prominently in my mind is the oil painting, Wings by Maurice Swift. The background is a brilliant sunset over the ocean. The artist captured the man's shoulder muscles tightening as he flared his wings wide. Gorgeous golden skinned with wings the color of a late evening storm, dark gray with blue and silver etching.

The painting took my breath away the first time I laid eyes on it at the Royal Museum in Alberta, Canada in Elfhiem Valley.

Unfortunately, the near mythical race of warrior fairy has not been seen since Sídhí arrived on Earth some four thousand years ago.

History is a bit blurry on the subject of what happened to the highest of the fairy warrior caste.

I called the fairy's embassy in Celtic Valley, but I wasn't surprised when they refused to discuss the subject with me. The few fairies I've met are extremely rude to other races.

Until next time - Jodie B. Cooper

Stolen Sasquatch Recovered! part II

Continued

Norman, the Sasquatch aka Big Foot, has been captured near the small town of Stigler, Oklahoma (in the mundane world.)

Master Healer Margaret Mai Lynn officially reported no serious injuries, stating she stabilized a broken leg. I found out later, she broke Sídhí law by completely healing a ruptured artery in the mundane rancher when he tried calling for help. If she hadn't healed him, he would've died.

For all you mundanes out there, be very wary of healers. Never, not unless you are seconds from dying, ask a healer to help you. Trust me you'll probably end up dead. When it comes to a mundane, a healer is more dangerous than a dhark vampire.

You see, healers can heal Sídhí.

Vampire, dragon, shapeshifter, it doesn't matter which Sídhí race as long as a person has synth crystal in their blood a healer can pull energy from herself and the injured person. This allows the healer enough energy to heal a Sídhí, even if the Sídhí is near death.

Unfortunately, when a healer attempts to heal a mundane the person's very life essence is sucked out. Sucking a person's essence is very addictive. That's why most valleys have banned healers from visiting Earth, a ruthless practice, but effective.

On a happy note, the mundane rancher is alive. He fell into a coma due to his life's essence nearly getting sucked dry, but Healer Margaret swears he'll wake-up in a month or two.

Oh dear! I've gone off on one of my tangents, haven't I? On to the events of Friday night, which lead to Norman's capture!

I parked my ancient Chevy truck next to the brick ranch house in the nick of time.

Clan Guardian Alexander stood on the porch, berating Healer Serena for nearly killing Mark. Several Clan Guardians noticed me and waved, but I steered clear of Alexander. He would've stopped me from interviewing the victims.

I found Mark's wife and three teenage girls sitting in the living room. Each of them stared blankly at the ceiling, mouths dropped open.

I feared the guardians had already wiped the true memories from their minds and mentally ordered them to remain silent. Thankfully, that didn't happen.

Guardian Tremaine, a really sweet vampire with dark auburn hair and a gorgeous – repeat all rippling muscles, no fat – body, allowed me to interview the women.

The youngest daughter, Sheila, provided the best recount of the evening. The mother wouldn't quit sobbing and the other two girls couldn't take their eyes off Tremaine to answer my questions.

Anyway, Sheila said they heard a horrible noise about ten o'clock.

Mark grabbed his gun, ordering his wife to lock the door behind him. He opened the front door. Shouted (Sheila said, he sounded scared) and rapidly fired his gun. Slammed the door shut. All the while, shouting for everyone to run to the cellar. That's what they call storm shelters.

They ran through the house toward the kitchen. Sheila heard the front door, a solid oak monstrosity, being ripped off its hinges.

Attached to the house, the storm shelter opened into the laundry room. They piled in the cement room and bolted the steel door shut.

Mark was a smart man. Well, mostly. On their dash through the kitchen, he kicked the trash can over, spilling its contents. They had spent the night before cutting and packing a deer he shot. Yes, he killed it out of season, but that's beside the point.

The blood kept the Sasquatch occupied.

If Mark had stayed in the storm shelter, everything would've worked out fine. He didn't. He left to call for help and the Sasquatch chased him up a tree.

Unfortunately, all Sasquatch have very long claws and are very good tree climbers.

Norman slashed Mark's thigh, puncturing a major artery.

Clan guardians showed up before Norman pulled Mark out of the tree, shooting Norman with a tranquilizer dart.

Norman is now peacefully sleeping off the tranq dart. For those of you who wish to meet Norman, his new home is a twenty acre enclosure at Mordecai's Sasquatch Ranch.

Mordecai's has daily tours. I encourage families or individuals who want a longer adventure to purchase one of their many tour packages, which (depending on the package you pick) include a cabin, jet skis, trail rides, and a dozen other wonderful extras. Tell them Jodie sent you!

On a final note, Clan guardians gave the mundane family and Haskell County emergency workers vague memories of a rabid black bear, not a very good cover story but it worked.

Until next time ~ Jodie B. Cooper

Gnomes & Stink Bombs

Clan Valley

Warning! If you have a weak stomach stop reading right now.

Clan Valley High School has canceled summer school.

I know, it sounds insane. Right? Half the summer semester is already over with so canceling summer school seemed very odd to me. I called around and found out the true reason.

With the influx of gnomes into Clan Valley the school board insisted all gnomes under the age of eighteen must attend school. For those of you who don't know, Clan Valley is primarily a vampire valley. The transition has not been easy for gnomes or vampires.

Well, the gnomes – generally speaking they are three-feet tall with wrinkly skin like a Shar Pei and have brilliant red fuzzy hair that's about an inch long – refused to comply with the mandate.

Everyone knows gnomes are notorious pranksters so their response shouldn't have surprised anyone.

Gnomes taped the official mandate to the school doors, marked 'no' across the paper in bold red ink, and then flushed a fairy made stink bomb down every commode on school property.

Mundanes have no clue how bad a fairy made stink bomb smells.

Honestly, fairies – especially those from the artist caste – can create just about anything by utilizing their talent to manipulate synth energy, including changing normal attributes of certain objects. Today, the object in question was super glue. What they did was 'scientifically' impossible, but you must remember we are talking about fairies. They tend to warp scientific theory out of shape until it's unrecognizable.

The stink bombs were comprised of super glue, cow manure, rabbit manure, and skrivett pus. (A skrivett is a pus covered rodent.) The compressed bomb went down the pipes and exploded, spreading chunks of manure through-out the entire sewage system. No, it did not dissolve.

When the synth enhanced super glue touched the interior plastic wall of the pipes, it activated and expanded, sticking cow manure and pebble sized rabbit pellets throughout the entire sewer system. The skrivett pus, which smells like raw sewage in its natural state went everywhere, including the ceiling of the bathrooms.

I'm sure you can imagine, Principle Tinklebunn blew a gasket.

Literally, she shrieked until all the windows in the entire school and surrounding community shattered. Need I mention she is a fairy of the warrior caste? To be very specific she is a siren.

Even with so much damage, with the proper fairy made solvent, it shouldn't take the remainder of the summer to clean up the mess.

Well, you wouldn't think so, but the only one who can create a counter chemical to destroy the super glue is Samuel Nippers, the fairy who created the stink bombs. He is a Master Class within his caste and has refused to create a solvent that would disolve the super glue.

I've heard it without the solvent it will take weeks to dislodge the crap from the sewer system, clean the skrivett pus off the walls, and replace all of the windows.